Dover Beach
by Ooshka
Summary: Lieutenant Duckling AU. Falling off a boat into the sea is one thing, being rescued by a Lieutenant who keeps insisting its actually a ship is something else. Stuck together and far from home, Princess Emma and Lieutenant Jones are about to discover that sometimes it takes learning about someone else to really get to know yourself.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N So, sometimes when _Prairie Lullaby_ isn't going that well, I fiddle around with some other writing. This is one of those attempts. It's Lieutenant Duckling, and meant to just be a bit of fun. I have a plan, but no idea how long it'll be in the end. The title is partly from The Bangles song of the same name, and partly from the Matthew Arnold poem, and mostly just because I'm crap at thinking of titles and couldn't come up with anything else.**

**I have had it up on Tumblr for a while, but there's a few chapters now so I figured I'd put it here because, say what you like about this site, I've had the absolute _best_ response to _Prairie Lullaby_, guest reviewers included. Seriously, the people who've commented, favourited, followed and read that story have been amazing and I'm feeling so happy to have stumbled into this fandom :D**

**But for those of you reading _Prairie Lullaby_, don't fear because I am working on the next part of that, too :D**

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><p><em>All Princess Emma had really wanted was a little time to herself, to just be Emma and not all the things everyone expected. Of course falling into the sea had not been a part of that plan, and now she's left in a strange place with a strange young man and perhaps home is a lot better than she thought it was.<em>

_Lieutenant Killian Jones hadn't intended on saving a princess. But pulling her from the water is only the start of the journey and now they have to figure out a way to survive the dangers facing them, and each other._

_Stuck together and far from home, the two of them are about to discover that sometimes it takes learning about someone else to really get to know yourself. _

Emma hadn't really enjoyed the wedding, but the boat ride was nice.

The boat ride to the wedding of Prince Eric and the former mermaid Ariel had been long and tedious because she'd been trapped in a cabin with her entire family, most of whom seemed intent on being unduly annoying. Honestly, sometimes just the sound of her brother Jamie's breathing made her want to throw him overboard.

Sometimes she just wants a little space to herself.

But the wedding was over and her younger sister Eva had managed to persuade their parents that she desperately wanted to see the fabled Pink Cliffs, because who doesn't need to be nearly blinded by staring at some slightly pinkish cliffs formed by hot springs as they ran into the sea?

The answer to that question, was the Princess Eva, who begged and wheedled until her parents, Queen Snow and Prince David, finally gave in, and let her follow on a separate boat which would divert in order to take in her little sight-seeing excursion, providing, of course, that her older sister also accompanied her, along with their maids. Emma was just glad that Eva's pet rabbit hadn't been packed on board as well.

But even so, this trip is…better. Eva, who at 12 is six years younger than Emma, did at least stop talking when they finally got their first glimpse of the cliffs. Emma got to stand on deck and enjoy the solitude her sister's silence afforded her.

And then her solitude is broken by a male voice close by. "Are they to your liking, your highness?" Turning, Emma sees that Captain Liam Jones has joined her at the railing.

"I think…they are probably as lovely as Princess Eva hoped they would be," Emma replies, trying, and probably failing, not to stare at Captain Jones too much. If she was being honest with herself, then she would admit that she has a small crush on the Captain of the _Jewel of the Realm_. But it isn't something that she expects will ever mean anything. She's a princess, for one thing, and he's older and unlikely to ever want someone as unworldly as she is.

But she's young, and he's handsome, and nice, and she very much enjoys watching him move about the boat.

"And do you find them lovely, your highness?" Captain Jones asks. Emma is almost certain that she's blushing because he's looking at her so intently, like he's really interested in her opinion and it's so very flattering. She realises that it's one thing to admire someone from afar, it is quite another to come face to face with the object of her admiration.

"I'm sure I do, although I am not perhaps as enamoured with geological wonders as my sister is. But I am here so she may have her glimpse of them, and not get herself in trouble in the process." Emma glances over towards one of the sailors who is warning Eva not to lean too far over the railing. She lets out a small sigh and turns back to Captain Jones. "It's not easy being the eldest, you know," she adds, conspiratorially, because he's been so nice that it's hard not to slip into the habit of letting him into her confidence.

"Oh, believe me. I understand, your highness." Captain Jones gives her a warm smile, followed by a slight bow, and then leaves her side. Emma can see one of the other interchangeable officers dotted around the boat watching her, but she was used to that. People stare all the time, thinking she is something special when she isn't. Not really.

Her birth had been heralded with much fanfare, coming as it did so soon after the banishment of the Evil Queen, Regina. She was, after all, the product of True Love and it was expected she'd bring great things to the kingdom, even though they were expecting the return of Regina at any time.

But Regina didn't return, and Emma didn't show any signs of being magic and, eventually, Queen Snow and Prince David became complacent enough to risk extending their family. First came Eva, then the twins, Leo and Jamie, followed by David Jnr, and the baby of the family, Elsa.

It wasn't that Emma felt pushed out of the nest, she just felt a little…swamped. There were so many people in her family, all fighting to be heard, and she didn't have anything that was just hers. Even this sight-seeing trip wasn't for her benefit, it was for Eva's.

She's broken out of her reverie by Eva coming over and elbowing her in the side. "You like him," she accuses with all the vehemence only a 12 year old girl could muster.

"I do not. And I would thank you to remember some sense of propriety, Eva. Even though mother and father are not here, it doesn't mean that you get to go around imagining all sorts of things that, clearly, do not exist."

Eva rolls her eyes rather dramatically, which looks odd in a face which is so much like their mother's. Emma's sister is as different to her in colouring as she is in temperament. "You're just in a mood because it's your time of the month." Eva smiles, knowingly.

"You do not know what you're speaking about." Emma remains as haughty and detached as she can, aware that the odd officer-person was still watching them from further down the boat. Whoever he is, he's getting on her nerves and she really doesn't want to give him a show by pinching her sister's arm, even though she is sorely tempted.

"Oh, I do so," Eva replies, smugly. "I've started, too."

Emma frowns. "You have? But you're only 12."

"13 in a week, so I'm practically grown now."

Now Emma is tempted to roll her own eyes. Eva is so adamant that she's a grown up, but really, what difference does it make that she's menstruating? It hadn't made any difference to Emma, after all. Sure, she'd been allowed to leave the nursery but other than that, she was treated like a child just as much as she always was.

All Emma really wants is some time on her own. A little time to be just Emma, and not the daughter of the Queen and Prince consort, the sister of all the other princes and princesses, a member of the royal household, the product of True Love and all the things that defined her. None of them were about who she is as a person.

Feeling a little deflated, Emma returns to her cabin to wait for their arrival in The Enchanted Forest.

The storm comes suddenly, a few hours later. Emma listens to the rain hitting the deck above her, the shouts of the men, and the sails as they're whipped mercilessly by the wind. It's all a little terrifying, being buffeted about, and her stomach lurches more than once as the _Jewel of the Realm_ does the same.

It does not help her at all when her maid starts heaving into a bucket in the corner of the room. Emma's stomach rolls and she develops a sudden, strong need to breathe something other than the close and slightly fetid air in the cabin. Opening a porthole is out of the question, so there is only one thing for it.

Surely she can just stick her head up above the little hatch that leads down here and just take a few breaths? That won't hurt anyone will it?

Emma steps out of the cabin only to discover that her sister Eva has followed her out. "Are you going out?" Eva demands, in a way that reveals she is hardly the grown-up she believes she is.

"I'm just…getting some air."

"Well, if you're going up there, I'm going up there. I want to see how big the waves are."

"I don't really think that's a good idea, Eva."

"Stop treating me like I'm a _child_, Emma. You're not Mother. And I'm allowed."

"I don't know if you are, Eva." Emma really wishes that Eva would just learn to take no for an answer.

"Well, _you're _doing it. And I bet you didn't even ask your Captain Jones, did you? Because you go all red when you talk to him. So, whatever Emma! I'm going up to look."

Emma watches as Eva climbs the ladder and then pushes on the hatch to the deck. It doesn't open at first and Emma can hear Eva give a small grunt as she pushes harder. Emma wishes that Eva would just get on with it so she can see what a bad idea this is, and they can go back to the cabin none the worse for wear. "Come on, Eva," she mutters, quietly. "Just get it open."

And odd shiver goes through Emma and she feels a strange tingling sensation in her fingers, but she pays it no attention as she focuses on her sister. Eva gives one last shove and the hatch suddenly opens with a bang, causing her to give a small squeak of surprise. Emma is immediately hit with a blast of cold air swirling down to where she's standing.

"Eva? Eva, I don't think this is a great idea."

"Phfft. Stop being such a scaredy-cat!" Eva may have been adamant that she was a woman now, but right at that moment she sounds more like their brothers who seem to spend most of their lives daring each other to perform more and more outrageous tasks. Emma is briefly glad that it's only Eva here with her, and not the boys, and then she follows her sister up the ladder.

"Don't go out Eva! I don't think it's safe." The boat lurches violently to the right.

"I just want to see. It's very dark and I can't see properly." Eva disappears through the hatch and out of Emma's sight.

She isn't at all sure what to do. On the one hand, most likely one of the sailors will drag her back down any minute now, just as they'd prevented her from falling overboard earlier that afternoon.

On the other hand, Emma thinks, as moments pass by and there's still no sign of Eva, it's possible that the crew are too busy to notice a child up on the deck. Anything could be happening to her. And as much as they would no doubt try to stop themselves from expressing it, it was almost a given that her parents will not be pleased if their first born daughter lets their second born daughter tumble off a boat during a storm. She remembers all the walks she'd gone on as a child, and being forced to hold her baby sister's clammy little hand so Eva didn't wander off into the gardens, or the forest, or the kitchens in search of a forbidden cake.

She fervently wishes that Eva was still so compliant.

Emma pokes her head up through the hatch and immediately regrets it. The wind whips past her head, loosening her hair and sending strands spiralling around. The rain pelts her face, the drops icy and unforgiving. Sure, there was the fresh air she'd been craving, but the roiling of her stomach is no longer due to the movement of the boat or the sickness of her maid; now it's caused by fear about what has happened to Eva.

"The waves are really big, Emma!" a familiar voice calls from her left.

"That's lovely, Eva," she calls back, as she watches the sails move overhead and wonders just how much more wind it would take to rip one down. "Come back inside now!"

Emma waits for some kind of reply from Eva and none arrives. "Eva?" she calls, searching for her sister in the gloom. "Come back!"

"I…I can't." Eva's voice sounds small and far away.

"Yes you can! Get back in here now!" Emma isn't even trying to hide the desperation in her own voice. Why, oh why, could Eva never do as she was asked?

"I'm scared Emma! It's too scary up here!" Emma has a sudden vision of her sister as she was when she was a toddler too frightened to go down the steep stone stairs in the castle. Eva would simply stand at the top and yell for Emma to come and help her down. And each time it happened, without fail, Emma would go because her father always told her that she was his big girl and it was her job to help those who needed it.

"It's fine, Eva. Just come back and you'll be fine!"

"NO! You come and get me!"

"I…" Emma looked around helplessly for any sign of someone else who might come to their aid, but the few sailors she can see aren't paying any attention to the two girls. "I'm coming Eva!"

She crawls out of the hatch and, keeping on all fours, inches her way along the slick deck towards the sound of Eva's voice. "Just hold on!"

"I am holding on!" Eva yells. "I'm not stupid, Emma!"

Emma thinks that they could very much debate that assertion right about then, but maybe she will wait until they are back in the cabin, dry and out of danger. Then she'll tell Eva exactly what she thinks of her little stunt.

Emma keeps crawling and, after a moment, spies something vaguely white on the deck which approximates Eva's form. Emma reaches out a hand and touches the object, shouting "I'm here!" She suspects that's not as comforting to Eva as it once was on the stairs of the castle.

"I want to go inside!" Eva wails.

"Take my hand." Eva's hand is wet and slippery, as is the deck itself. Emma holds on to something metal that she hopes is well-anchored with one hand, while she tries to pull Eva towards her with the other. Her sister is almost a dead weight.

"You'll have to crawl, too, Eva," she calls out.

"I'm scared though!"

"I've got you. You can do it."

It seems to take hours, although it must only be minutes, but they painstakingly crawl back to the hatch. "Get in!" Emma urges her sister, and Eva slides her legs over the edge and disappears, not even bothering to hide her sob of relief from her sister.

Emma follows, and then stands, toes curled around the rung of the ladder, trying to close the hatch. It's heavy, though, and while Eva had been able to push it open, the direction of the wind and the tilting of the boat is now pinning it to the deck. Emma determines that she needed a better angle, and more leverage, so climbs back up, intending to lift the hatch partially up while balancing one foot on the deck, and then close it behind her as she climbs down the ladder.

It seems like an easy thing to accomplish in her head, but the wind is strong, the rain relentless and her soft slippers have no grip on the sodden surface of the deck. Emma grasps the hatch with both hands and pulls, just as a large wave hits the side of the boat and it rolls, in the same direction she's pulling. Emma's wet hands slip, leaving her clutching at nothing, and her feet slide from underneath her as though she is pretend-skating down the marble floored hallways of the castle in her stockinged feet once again.

She's so surprised to find herself sliding in this fashion, her arms wind-milling, her mouth probably open despite the rain, her eyes wide, that she is almost less surprised when she hits the water. Of course it happens this way. If she is ever going to fall off a boat in the middle of a storm, it will be because Eva, the perpetual thorn in her side, has caused her to do so.

For a moment she forgets to do anything to stop herself drifting in the icy water. It's so cold that all she wants to do is curl in a ball and hope that it goes away, soon. But somewhere deep in her mind she knows that isn't going to happen. Swim, she tells herself. Emma, you have to swim.

Breaking the surface, Emma can make out the dark shape of the boat. It looks a lot further away than she thought it should. How can it have got away so fast? She begins to swim towards it, although the waves feel like they're pushing her back and she can barely see as they break over her head, and her limbs feel almost too heavy to move, dragged down by the cold and by her dress wrapping itself around her.

It all seems hopeless, and Emma's on the verge of giving up entirely and resigning herself to a watery grave, when she feels arms pulling at her. For a moment she remembers the story of how Ariel had once saved her mother and she imagines that the mermaid has followed the ship and is now stepping in to rescue Snow's daughter from the same fate.

But it isn't Ariel. It's one of the sailors off the boat. She's at first relieved because she's no longer on her own and those few long moments when it was just Emma versus the sea were truly terrifying, but then he starts dragging her in what is, clearly, the wrong direction.

"No!" she yells, as best as she can, above the sound of the rain and the wind and the waves. "The boat!" Emma points at the dark shape that she is sure is the boat she's fallen off. She just needs to get back there and then someone will pull them up, and it will all be OK.

What she doesn't need just now is to be dragged further out to sea by some idiot sailor. She tries to wrench free of the grip he has on her arm, but she can't. A choked sob escapes her, but she doubts he heard it above the other noise around them.

He is pulling her to her death and he doesn't even care.

Her parents have always feared that her life will end this way. At the mercy of someone with a grudge against her family, someone who works for The Evil Queen, or King George or even the Dark One. Someone who wants to hurt her family and thinks she's the key to meeting that aim.

But then, in the midst of her despair, Emma realises that there is something in front of them, something dark and looming.

Have they turned around and found the boat again? She wants to ask, but this isn't really the time to start up a conversation.

Minutes that feel like hours pass by. Emma's cold, so cold, and she's tired and confused. Wherever they're going, she isn't sure she can make it now. It seems like a much better decision to just let go, to let herself sink, to give up on ever making it out of the water.

She wants desperately to let go, get rid of the pain in her arms and her legs, but he won't let her. She tries to stop swimming but he yells "Keep going!" and drags her through the water.

"No," Emma says, although she doubts he's heard her voice. She tries prying his fingers off her arm again, but his grip is like iron. She relents, knowing when she's beaten, and they make a little more progress through the water.

The dark shapes ahead became clearer and Emma realises something very important. They aren't heading towards the boat, their destination is the shore.

He lets go, finally, as they reach shallow water and she collapses, spluttering and overwhelmed. "Get up and keep going!" he barks, and although a corner of her mind balks at the reproof from some sailor she doesn't even know, she does as he instructs, and, eventually, she realises that she's crawling on sand rather than through water.

Emma looks over at the man who's dragged her onto the beach and who is now sitting, looking out at the tumultuous sea behind them. She supposes she should feel some gratitude, but she doesn't. Not right then.

"It was the wrong way!" she hisses. "We went the wrong way!" She may be out of the water now, but her heart has sunk somewhere along the way to the shore. She isn't where she's supposed to be, and she's left Eva behind. Worst of all she feels like she's let everyone down.

"We're safe," he tells her, and she crawls a little closer to get a better look at him. From his uniform he's completely interchangeable with all the other sailors on the ship, the ones of higher rank, anyway. But there is something a little familiar about him…she just can't figure out what. And then, in a flash, she does and she realises that he's the man who'd been watching her talk to the captain, earlier in the day.

She's no longer sure if she truly is safe. The way he'd watched her before, so intensely, it was…worrying. And now she's stuck here with him. Wherever here is, exactly. She can almost make herself believe that he's orchestrated the whole thing and she's ended up overboard because of him.

"But…my sister…" Emma says, trying to work out what to do next.

"She was in the water, too?" he asks, sharply.

"No. She's on the boat. And I'm supposed to be on the boat too! But I fell off, and you didn't take me back, you brought me here, and they left us behind!"

"It's a ship." His voice is dark, and unimpressed.

"What?" Whatever Emma had expected the response to her little outburst to be, it isn't that.

"It's a ship. You fell off a ship, not a boat."

"Well that doesn't make it sound any better, does it?"

He looks at her coolly and she tries to make out any of his features in the gloomy light, but she fails. All she can tell is that he has dark hair, and that may have just been because he was wet, like she is. She shivers, involuntarily.

"No," he replies. "It's still a bloody stupid thing to do. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I had to get my sister because no one else was bothering to do anything about it!"

"Perhaps everyone on board was a little too busy to deal with a couple of silly girls who couldn't figure out it was safer below deck during a storm!"

Emma doesn't really have a good comeback to that because, she has to admit, going up on deck had been a silly thing to do. Her only defence is that she'd tried to talk Eva out of it, but it was a meagre defence at best. In the end, she decides to pull rank. "You do realise who you're addressing in such a manner, don't you?"

"Someone I just pulled out of the water. A little gratitude might have been appropriate…your highness."

Emma stays quiet. She's happy to be alive, but at the same time, deep down she still feels that he's done something wrong in dragging them ashore rather than attempting to get back to the boat…ship. Whatever it is! All Emma knows is that it's sailed off and left them.

Emma presses her lips together, trying to will away the desire to cry. She simply won't give in to the temptation in front of this man.

"Who are you, anyway?" she asks him.

"Jones…" Emma turns a scornful look in his direction, even though he probably won't see it with the little light there is. And then she interrupts him.

"No. You're not. You're forgetting that I've met the captain, and you're clearly not Liam Jones. Nice try, but just because we're stuck here it doesn't give you the opportunity to impersonate him."

There's a moment where the only sound is the waves crashing and the wind howling and Emma regrets her harsh words because calling the man's bluff has probably caused him to rethink any plan he might have to keep her alive.

"I'm Lieutenant Jones. Killian Jones," he says quietly. "The captain's my brother."

"Oh." Emma wonders if he's going to press for some kind of apology for the fact she'd accused him, outright, of being a liar. But instead he stands up and she sees what looks like his hand extended towards her. It's still too gloomy to make much out.

"We should probably find some shelter," he says, as she takes the offered hand with as much grace as she can muster under the circumstances, and allows him to help her up. "Your hand is freezing," he comments.

"All of me is freezing." Emma has never been so cold in her life.

"Let's…see if there's a cave, or something." Lieutenant Jones starts to pull Emma along the wet sand and she stumbles, feeling anything but graceful.

"But…shouldn't we wait? For them to come back for me…us?" She hopes he hasn't noticed her last minute correction, as she hasn't meant to be insensitive. But deep down she knows that it's far more likely her absence will be noted before his. After all, she's one of only two princesses on board, he's just another sailor. Brother of the captain or not, it may be a while before anyone thinks to see if he is where he should be. Eva will have surely raised the alarm about Emma.

Emma feels another pang of guilt about leaving her sister alone, even though she is still fairly convinced that Eva has caused the whole disaster with her mad desire to see how big the waves are.

"They won't come back. Not in this weather."

Emma wishes she could formulate some argument to the contrary. They wouldn't just leave her here, would they?

But he sounds so defeated, so utterly certain that their fate is now to be stuck on this little rocky beach, that she can't think of anything that might prove him wrong.

They trudge through wet sand and over rocks which cut through Emma's slippers and make her hop about in pain at least once on their journey. And then, when she thinks she would rather just give up on the walking and sit in the rain, Lieutenant Jones suddenly says, "Up there!", and she finds herself being pushed up some rocks towards an inky black spot.

They pause at the entrance. "What if there's something in there?" she whispers.

"Well," Lieutenant Jones replies, slowly. "I think we'll have to hope that there is not, because I would be sorely disappointed if I had rescued a princess only to see her get eaten by something unspeakable."

He takes a step inside the cave and Emma follows, sitting alongside him when he sinks onto the hard stone. "You think it'd catch me first?" she whispers. "You don't have much faith in my ability to get away from danger."

"I guess we'll have to see, your highness" he replies, quietly.

The sound of the wind and the sea is still loud, but the loudest sound in the cave is the chattering of Emma's teeth. She tries biting her lip, tasting the dried salt there in the process, but it doesn't work. The chill that has seeped into her bones isn't like anything she's ever felt before.

Lieutenant Jones shifts slightly and she feels his right arm go over her shoulders and pull her close against him. She stiffens at the contact; it's the closest she's ever been to another person who she isn't related to, or who isn't in her service. "We have to keep warm," he murmurs, rubbing her upper arms with his hands.

"Easier said than done," Emma replies, blinking back tears again.

They sit like that, silently, in the mouth of the cave while the storm carries on around them. Emma isn't sure how much time has passed but the cold is slowly, painfully slowly, leaving her. She's still wet, and her dress is no doubt ruined by salt to boot, but she doesn't feel quite as alone as she had on the beach.

"Thank-you," she whispers into the dark. She doesn't turn her head to look at him, and the fact that there is no light to see by is only part of the reason. They are stuck together, now, after all. Whether they like it or not.

"You're welcome," the lieutenant replies, as his hands keep up their ministrations. "Your highness."

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N And because there are always two sides to a story, even the beginning of one, here is the second chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I make no claim to the recognisable characters in this story.**

Lieutenant Killian Jones wonders if this is his punishment for spending too much time watching the princess earlier in the day. Liam had noticed and made a comment about him keeping his eyes on his duties, which Killian had thought was more than a little unnecessary. It wasn't like he was standing there, staring blankly at her like a lovesick boy. But she was certainly…different to anything they normally carried on the_ Jewel of the Realm_ and, really, any distraction was welcome when they were merely serving as some kind of pleasure craft for the whims of the royal family. It was hardly a taxing voyage.

But he had, he supposed, been the only one aboard to see the princess tossed overboard during the storm, so there had been that small benefit. Although once in the water with her trying to drown herself and bellowing on about the bloody 'boat' being in the other direction, he didn't feel it to be much of a benefit at all. He felt it even less now that they were sitting in a damp, dark cave in the middle of a storm.

Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed being in such close proximity to a girl who was certainly pleasant to look at. He didn't get to see many girls at all, and he'd touched even fewer, and none of them looked anything like Princess Emma. But the moment was marred by many things, one of them being the gnawing worry in his gut.

He'd been short with her earlier, demanding some kind of gratitude for saving her. He's unsure whether that's something he's going to regret later, when it comes back to bite him. Probably he need only worry about such a thing happening if they are, by some miracle, still alive in the morning. Making it through the following day had even slimmer odds.

He feels responsible for her now, and utterly hopeless with it. He was used to being only responsible for himself, and the ship, and his men…but in each case he always had Liam there to back him up. In this, he was alone. Well, save for the princess he was currently trying to warm up.

It sounded like the start of a particularly ribald joke, but Killian couldn't have felt less like laughing. The responsibility for the girl in his arms weighs on him as heavily as the water-soaked dress the princess was wearing did on her. But as much as he wanted to, Killian couldn't suggest she remove it. He just hopes that she doesn't freeze to death on him because of it. He takes off his own water-logged waist-coat but leaves his shirt on, despite the way it clings to his torso like cold, damp seaweed.

They might be alone, in a cave and in danger of freezing, but something tells him that the princess isn't likely to appreciate him stripping half-naked in front of her.

But merely rubbing her arms doesn't seem to be warming her up any. The princess is so cold that it's like touching a fish. Or, worse, a mermaid. He shudders at the thought of running into one of those terrifying creatures.

"You're cold too," the princess murmurs, and it startles him because he had, momentarily at least, forgotten she was an actual person there, with him. He'd been lost in his own thoughts and keeping up the motion of his hands out of habit.

"I'll live," he replies, hoping that what he's said is a true statement.

"Of course you will," the princess replies, a little tetchily. "Because you're just going to run off."

"No. I'm not." Killian is more than a little hurt that the princess would assume he'd rescue her, only to abandon her. If he'd wanted to do that, he wouldn't have jumped into the bloody sea after her in the first place.

"Well, you might," she insists. "If you're just going to stand around and watch me get eaten."

He's confused by that statement for a moment, until it dawns on him that she's referencing his earlier comment. "You think I wouldn't at least try to keep hold of the princess I fished from the sea?" he asks.

"I don't know. Would you?" The princess' voice sounds almost arch, but the effect is a little marred by the noticeable chattering of her teeth. Although that sound is in danger of being drowned out by the loud rumble coming from his own stomach, Killian notices with dismay.

"Yes," he says, as decisively as he can. "I would."

"Good."

There is silence for a moment, and then Killian's stomach rumbles again, loudly. "Although," the princess adds. "I'm slightly worried now that _you_ might devour me."

Under other circumstances her attempt at humour might seem almost flirtatious, but there was nothing in their current situation that made him think that the princess in any way wanted him…_like that_. "I think you're safe," he murmurs, growing a little uncomfortable with the conversation all the same.

"Mmm," the princess replies, thoughtfully. "Don't sailors turn to cannibalism when they're shipwrecked?"

"I like to think I'm capable of waiting a little longer than a few hours before I start on that. And anyway, technically we weren't shipwrecked." He wonders if the _Jewel_ has found any shelter from the storm yet, and if they've noticed that he and the princess are missing. It wasn't something he particularly enjoyed, thinking of his ship sailing on without him.

He might almost prefer to keep talking about cannibalism. And then something occurs to him. "Are you trying to distract me?" he asks.

"A little." Her voice is very quiet now. "It usually works."

"With who?"

"Oh. My brothers and sisters. They take a lot of distracting."

Killian isn't sure whether to be flattered that she is considerate enough of his feelings to bother trying to distract him, or insulted that she's treating him like a child. But he can't help but miss the sadness in her voice as she talks about her family. There'd been another princess on the ship, and he hopes that she's had the sense to tell at least one member of the crew about her sister's sudden disappearance.

"Does your broth…uh, Captain Jones do that? Distract you?" she asks in a small voice. He doesn't really want to discuss his relationship with Liam, complicated as it is by naval protocol.

"I suppose…he would distract me by putting me on watch. It's a boring job, but you're stuck there."

"Is that what he did tonight?"

"Yes." He hopes very much that her line of questioning will stop there, as he doesn't want to be pressed into admitting just what it was that Liam was trying to distract him from.

The princess seems to have run out of verbal distractions, however, and conversation lapses. Killian keeps up his ministrations on her arms, wishing he could find it in him to suggest that she shift closer and they share some body heat. Or even just have the courage to move closer to her and assume she wouldn't rebuff him. But even in their current state he simply isn't brave enough to hear the inevitable insults she'll throw his way should she assume that he is trying to take advantage of her. It was bad enough when she'd assumed he was trying to impersonate his brother. Killian should have known that she hadn't a clue who he was…but even so. It somehow rankles a little that she assumed there was only one Jones on board.

Better, though, to be thought an imposter than someone who'd take advantage of a maiden.

The only sounds are the rain and the sea outside, and the chattering of teeth inside the cave. Killian is now so cold and tired that his brain begins to shut down and he isn't really thinking any longer. He just wants the night to be over.

"How long do you think? Until morning?" the princess asks, suddenly, jolting him back to a more wakeful state.

"Hours, yet. I think." He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd stopped paying attention to everything.

He feels some movement from the princess and he guesses that perhaps she's nodded. In some ways he's glad that it's pitch black in the cave as he doesn't think he'd like to gaze at her worried face and know there's nothing he can do to make it better.

"I don't suppose you know any…magic?" Killian ventures.

The princess sighs sadly, and he's struck with the notion that it was entirely the wrong question to ask her. "I don't," she says, a little sharply. There's a pause, during which Killian wonders if he should apologise, before the princess speaks again. "Everyone thought I would just…have magic. Because of my parents, and the fact they're true love. But I didn't. Despite the years of watching me closely to see what I would do. It did become tiresome." She sighs again. "Really, if you want magic then we need my baby sister, Elsa. Although I can't say that she'd do much to improve the temperature in here."

Killian wished he'd never asked about magic now that he'd heard the sadness in her voice as she gave him her answer. Really, it was a stupid thing to even bring up. Surely if she had a way out of this situation she would have utilised it by now?

He feels like an idiot and it's all he can do not to drag himself off to some far corner of the cave and hang his head in shame. It's only the fact that he doesn't want to be held responsible if something should happen to her that keeps him sitting where he is.

She shivers again and he realises he's just going to have to be brave. "We need to keep warmer." He shifts his body closer to the princess.

"How?" she whispers, as he shifts a little closer again, so that his chest is now in contact with her back. "Oh." She sounds surprised, and he waits to find out if that's a good or a bad thing.

"It's a long time until morning," he reiterates, hoping she'll see his logic. Truthfully, as much as he may have wanted to touch her under other circumstances, he's now far too concerned with their survival to find much pleasure in the current situation.

At least, that's what he's telling himself.

"Yes," the princess agrees, quietly, and while he isn't entirely sure whether she's agreeing with his assessment of the time, or allowing him to touch her, he decides that she's given her assent.

"You're cold too." He feels her hands tentatively begin rubbing his legs, which are now either side of her body. He resumes doing the same to her arms.

It helps a little, being closer, but there is no denying that they are both still hungry, cold, and trapped in their wet clothing. And while their first priority is just surviving the night, he can't help but worry about what will happen if they are still alive in the morning.

The princess' thoughts are clearly working along the same lines. "What will we do tomorrow?" she asks.

Killian hasn't really thought that far ahead. And he isn't sure what made him the authority, anyway. After all, he's spent years on a ship without ever once falling overboard. He hasn't had to deal with this situation before.

"I think…" he begins, when it becomes clear that the princess is still waiting for an answer. "That we will do our best to ascertain our location and start procuring the items we'll need to survive until we can…" Killian pauses, trying to think of what would come next. Or, rather, trying to work out what Princess Emma wants to hear come next. Rescue, probably. He would certainly be glad if there was the possibility of a rescue party appearing on the horizon.

But he fears, quite greatly, that there isn't.

"Get home?" the princess ventures, quietly.

"Aye." Home sounds a long way off about then.

"How far is it?"

This was a question Killian has been dreading. He has no idea, not really, but his suspicions are not happy ones. "It's…it will be a journey. So, tomorrow we'll try to find food, and perhaps some shelter. After that we'll…assess the situation." Deflecting the princess's questions is proving to be a more difficult task than he's anticipated. He hopes that she'll stop asking them because, eventually, he's going to run out of acceptable answers and he'll be forced to tell her the truth.

They are a long way from home, possibly in an enemy kingdom, and there is very little chance of rescue.

"I shall need better travelling clothes," the princess half-whispers, and he finds himself agreeing although he has no idea what he is agreeing to. While he supposes that the gown she's wearing isn't all that practical, women's garments are not something he knows much about. He will have to trust the princess on the validity of this point.

"And better footwear. These slippers…" She pauses. "I slipped off the boat because of them. They are poorly constructed but aptly named." She sighs loudly and the fact that she's so annoyed at her footwear and busy blaming her shoes for the foolhardiness on her part which saw her swept off the ship in a storm makes him not even want to correct her out loud. Only in his head does he amend her words to include the term ship.

"Also, I will need some rags," she announces, still sounding annoyed. This statement, however, confuses him utterly.

"Rags?"

"Yes. I'm bleeding."

She's spoken so matter-of-factly that he wonders for a moment if he has misheard her. But he hasn't and he soon wishes that there is some light in the cave because he needs to see her injury. "Where are you hurt? How bad is it?" The words tumble out in a rush and he's pushing aside the desire to investigate with his hands and see if he can find the source of this mysterious bleeding.

"What? Oh. No. I'm not _hurt._" She's dismissive of his assumption but that simply makes him all the more confused. "It's just…the monthly bleeding. You know."

Killian does know, in theory. But the reality is something he's simply never encountered. Rags? "Oh." His voice comes out a lot higher than he would like, so he swallows and tries again. "Of course."

"I suppose you're not used to women." He can't tell if that's a statement or a question on her part. It's true nonetheless. "I'm not really used to…men," she adds. "I guess that makes us a good pair."

"I suppose it does." He doesn't really believe that though, as he can't imagine being stranded with anyone with whom he has less in common than this strange and bewitching creature. He doesn't particularly want to think about just how bewitching she is, though, so instead comments "I'm just glad we haven't fallen over any giants yet."

"Giants?"

"They…uh…" Killian realises suddenly that his joke might be in poor taste and hesitates. The princess, however, urges him to finish, with a rather too eager "Yes?"

He sighs and mumbles "Smell blood," regretting ever starting down this conversational road. Hypothetical creatures that might eat them were one thing; real-life creatures lured by…well, he doesn't want to dwell on _that_ because it's where he ended up in difficulty to start with.

She'll think he's an arse and she won't be all that wrong.

"Yes," she agrees, although her voice sounds a little high and tense. "That would be terribly bad."

Killian is unsure how exactly to get himself out of the hole he's managed to dig. He isn't fit to converse with any woman, let alone a princess. "But we'll be alright, on the morrow," he ventures.

He hopes she takes that as the apology it was meant to be, because he doesn't think he can come up with a better one right then. He's tired, and cold and hungry and he can't figure out which of these feelings is the most pressing at that moment. The world inside the cave is already dark, but now it's starting to swirl and he hopes that the princess doesn't say anything for a while because he just needs a minute to gather his thoughts so he doesn't babble like an idiot again.

He drifts, like he's floating on the ocean, and then he's gone.

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Thank you for all your kind support on this story, hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**Disclaimer: Recognisable characters are not mine.**

Emma wakes up with a combined snort and gasp that is anything but ladylike. But she has other more pressing problems than just remaining decorous. First up is where the hell she is. She's wedged into an odd contortion, her cheek against something bony and a heavy weight on her back and something kind of warm against her neck. Opening her eyes she sees one boot.

In a rush the events of the night before are replayed in her head and she is aware of exactly where she is and, most importantly, who the errant boot belongs to.

Panicking, Emma sits up suddenly and hears a grunt behind her as she rolls her shoulders to throw off the weight pressed against them.

Turning to face Lieutenant Jones she isn't sure what to say to him. The cave is still a little gloomy, but it's the first time there's really been enough light to look at him properly, and her realisation that he is, indeed, the sailor who'd been watching her on the boat makes her shy. Especially given the knowledge that they somehow ended up twisted together in their sleep, her head on his knee and, Emma guesses, his chest pressed up against her back and his face on her neck.

There is also no denying that he is handsome; different from his brother, certainly, but handsome all the same. His dark hair is decidedly messy and she can see the stubble on his jaw, but none of it detracts from the fact he has one of the most pleasing faces she's ever seen. It just adds to the amount of discomfort Emma is currently experiencing being in his presence. She's not used to being alone with any man who isn't family or a trusted retainer, and none of those make her feel this uncomfortable just because their eyes are so blue.

Lieutenant Jones drops his gaze and looks around the floor of the cave, before picking up his discarded waistcoat and shrugging it on. "Still wet," he murmurs.

"Well, so am I," Emma says, meaning to commiserate with him. But the way he keeps his eyes averted suggests that maybe her words sounded more like a rebuke than she intended.

It hits her that she isn't the only one of them facing a few truths in the morning light, and that, to this man, there is now no denying that he is alone in the company of a princess and, more to the point, spent at least part of the night using her as a pillow.

Emma isn't sure that telling him she didn't really mind is the right thing to do, so she tries to think of something else to say instead. It takes a moment or two and an awkward silence, but she then realises that, probably, sitting in the cave as they are doing is the worst possible choice they could make.

"Let's go outside," she suggests. "And see if they've come back yet." She doesn't wait for an answer from Lieutenant Jones, because, honestly, it's a little tense between them at the moment and she isn't sure she really wants to watch him become overly apologetic about the whole sleeping on top of her thing.

Not when they're about to get rescued.

When Emma clambers down from the cave she sees the storm is passing, but the sky is still a gunmetal grey and the sea choppy. The wind immediately sends her hair into her face and she pushes it away impatiently, scanning the horizon and seeing…nothing. There is no ship there of any description.

"They're not here," she says as the lieutenant comes to join her. Her voices sounds small and sad and while she wishes it didn't, she's painfully aware that the tiny bubble of hope she has been clinging to is now floating away from her.

"No," the lieutenant says, perhaps a little redundantly. Emma turns to look at him, and the way he flicks his eyes down to the sand and runs his tongue along his bottom lip makes her think he's going to say something. Worse, she thinks it will be something conciliatory, designed to comfort her in her darkest hour.

If he tries to comfort her, she thinks, she'll be sorely tempted to punch him in the arm. Hard. Just as she would do if he were one of her brothers. She's not in the mood to be comforted by anyone, let alone some strange man she only just met.

"I thought…" he begins, and then she watches as he swallows. "I mean, your highness, we discussed the possibility of rescue last night, and…well, it won't happen." He raises an arm and gestures out at sea. "Look, the winds are all wrong and they won't dally about near the shoreline waiting for them to change. No, I'm almost certain they would have headed for home."

"No…" the word escapes her lips before Emma can stop it. "They _wouldn't_." She's well aware of what they discussed the previous night, but somehow that seemed like the worst case scenario. A litany of all the things they'd have to do if they were really stranded here, but none of them would ever actually be required because things would work out, somehow. Things always worked out if you just believed they would.

Didn't they?

"I'm afraid they would. We're not among friends, your highness. And it's just too dangerous to keep sailing about out there in the hope that the winds allow them to come back for us. Not that they know where we bloody are, of course."

"Well, couldn't we do something? Light a fire, perhaps? And then when someone passes they'll know we're here?"

The lieutenant shakes his head. "I don't think we particularly want to be noticed by every ship that passes by. Most of them will not be friendly." He sighs. "This is probably the worst place we could have ended up."

Emma can't help but notice that the lieutenant has allowed the annoyance he's no doubt feeling to creep into his voice.

Emma's more than annoyed now, though. She's absolutely furious. It isn't fair that she's ended up here, on this stupid beach with this stupid officer telling her exactly why she's going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future. She picks up a rock and hurls it into the sea. But she still doesn't feel better so she throws another one. And then another.

"I am so _bloody_ angry!" she yells after the last rock she throws, feeling that 'bloody' is a particularly useful word for summing up her feelings right then. She feels a little bit better at getting that out of her system, at least she does until she turns to Lieutenant Jones and notices he's smiling at her.

The urge to punch him returns in force.

"I am not sure what the sea has done to earn your wrath, your highness." he says, pointing out at the waves. "But really, that is not the enemy we should be worried about at the moment."

Emma considers this. "Well, yes. But we do have the rocks at least. Maybe if we made a pile of them so there are some to hand?"

She thinks she's offering a useful suggestion but the look on the lieutenant's face shows he's taking her anything but seriously. "What?" she demands.

Lieutenant Jones is at least not laughing outright, but she can tell from the way his mouth is turning up at the corners that he's only just managing to keep his mirth contained. "I'm sure you have exceedingly good aim, your highness, but you have to admit that should a party of less than friendly individuals surprise us, rocks are only going to be useful to pick off one or two of them."

"You are making fun of me," Emma states, with as much poise as she can muster under the circumstances. Possibly the effect might have been more intimidating if she hadn't had to say it through a mouthful of hair. Scrabbling to push the errant strands out of her face she watches as Lieutenant Jones tries to carefully compose his features.

"No. I'm sorry, your highness. I was merely trying to, uh…well, ensure we don't end up doing something rash."

Emma knows that she should accept his words and simply move on to other matters, while trying to retain some of her dignity. But she's reluctant to let it go; it was bad enough that he thought her foolish for falling off the boat, now he thinks she's no idea of how to protect herself at all.

She doesn't stop to think why his opinion is so important, she just does what she does best, and blurts her retort out. "Rocks are quite useful as weapons, you know. My father still bears the scar from where my mother hit him with one before they were married."

From the slightly astonished look on the lieutenant's face Emma realises that the argument she has presented is not as persuasive as she thought it would be. "You shouldn't underestimate the damage they can do," she says, hoping that just pressing the point will get him to agree.

But he seems to have missed the point entirely. "That seems like an interesting way of showing affection, your highness."

"She wasn't being affectionate. She was trying to get him to stop pinning her to the ground. See? Rocks work."

The lieutenant's expression does not seem to show any greater understanding of what point exactly Emma is trying to make. He is frowning and looking down at his boots and, while Emma has by now realised that perhaps the story about her parents loses some of its nuances if it's not something you've grown up hearing, she's still annoyed at him for not immediately agreeing with her.

So annoyed that, as she working to grasp her hair in one hand and keep it away from her face, she says "Well, you've made the face you might as well say the words that go with it."

Lieutenant Jones turns to her sharply and she realises she's made another mistake. It's something her mother usually says, at one time or another they've all heard it. But she mostly says it to Prince David.

But she fears that explanation will just further complicate the already complicated exchange she's having with Lieutenant Jones. She almost wishes that some of her siblings were here with her, because they would understand the reference and roll their eyes and say they weren't making any face and would Emma just shut up because she's not actually their mother.

But the lieutenant just looks at her, warily, from underneath his lashes, almost as though he's afraid that making direct eye contact will just provoke her further. "Well?" she prompts.

"I'm sorry, your highness," he says, in a voice that no longer holds the candidness it did earlier, but sounds more like the speech of the people who serve her on a daily basis. "I suppose that courtship must be different amongst royals."

"No, that's not…" Emma stops and replays his words in her head, unsure if he is really that confused by her story or if he is just teasing. It's not really something she is used to. Her siblings tease her constantly, but it's a more direct kind of challenge along the lines of 'Emma smells funny' stated with the express purpose of challenging her to respond with a swift act of retribution. This is different, a lot different, and she's still not sure what the correct response to it should be.

It's becoming painfully obvious that Emma is lacking any kind of reference for these kind of interactions. She was correct when she'd stated that she wasn't used to men. Or perhaps even just people her own age.

But mostly Emma is still concerned that Lieutenant Jones thinks she was foolish enough to believe she could hold off enemy forces with a handful of rocks. She's a little unclear on who, exactly, he thinks might turn up to do them harm, but decides not to question him about it further. Instead, she will try to prove that she's not as hopeless as he seems to believe.

"Come on," she calls, causing the lieutenant to look at her again. He'd been staring out at the sea and, for all his fine words about favourable winds and best courses of action he was no doubt hoping that the boat will suddenly appear on the horizon.

"What's your plan then? If it doesn't involve hoarding rocks?" She stands there, twisting her hair in her hands and waiting for an answer from the lieutenant.

He turns and stares at the cave they emerged from and the rocky incline next to it. "I suppose," he says, slowly, "that we set off, your highness."

"Up there?"

"Aye."

Emma is tempted to stand around and debate the merits of Lieutenant Jones' suggestion, partly on principle, and partly because she doesn't really like the idea of climbing up the rocks. But the wind is annoying her and she thinks that arguing with him isn't going to achieve anything because he doesn't understand half the points she is trying to make. She hadn't realised until now just how easy it was to be part of a big family where everyone understood everyone else, even when they didn't want to.

"Fine," she says in the end, and the lieutenant waits for a moment, as though he's expecting further instructions from her, and then he begins to walk towards the rocky cliff. Emma tucks her hair as best she can into the neck of her dress and follows.

The climb up the rocks gives Emma time to focus on things other than her predicament, or the fact that her predicament includes being stuck with the man she's following up the steep incline. He turns once or twice to look at her and Emma isn't entirely sure whether it's because he wants to offer help, or just to check that she hasn't fallen to her doom. At any rate, she keeps her focus on hauling herself up, despite being hampered by skirt and hair and stupid, stupid slippers and she pointedly doesn't look at him.

Reaching the top Emma finds herself in a landscape unlike any she's ever seen before. If she needed a reminder that she wasn't in the Enchanted Forest anymore, she certainly now has one. What Emma had thought were low clouds she now sees are puffs of steam rising from a grey, rocky landscape that looks like someone scraped away the earth that should have been on top. And the most awful smell was all pervading.

"What is that?" Emma asks, wishing she had a clothes-peg for her nose.

"Sulphur, your highness. It's…because of all the, uh, geothermal activity."

"It was better when we were just looking at those cliffs from the sea," Emma mutters because interesting geological features are all very well until you're faced with walking through them. Or actually smelling them. "It smells like every henhouse in the realm has been cursed and all the eggs rotted. Or the room my brothers sleep in. One of those, anyway."

It is a truly awful experience. "How do you know what it is, anyway?" she asks Lieutenant Jones, hoping that conversation might keep her mind off it.

"Oh. Well. I…uh, read about the area."

Emma looks around again, but there is still not much to see save barren, steaming landscape. And it all smells disgusting. "Why on earth would you be interested in this?"

Lieutenant Jones looks at the steam rising from the ground, his hands clasped behind his back in the formal way all military people have when they're addressed. At least, when they're addressed by Emma, or her parents, or anyone else in the royal household. Emma wishes he wouldn't because it makes her uncomfortable, like she's supposed to keep up appearances as well and really, she's beyond smiling and looking politely interested right at that moment. What she wants is someone who'll just answer her questions without thinking of the correct response first.

And, really, that's not too much to ask from the person who spent half the night sleeping on top of you, is it?

After a moment he sighs and says quietly "Because you were, your highness."

"Were what?"

"Interested. In the Pink Cliffs, anyway." He turns to look at her. "When I heard we were sailing to look at them, I read about the area."

"Oh. I wasn't…I mean. It was my sister, Princess Eva, who wanted to see them." Emma means her words to be somewhat of an apology to the lieutenant as she can think of nothing worse than having to read a boring book just because someone else is interested.

"I see." The lieutenant still sounds as formal and stiff and he did previously and Emma suspects her apology wasn't quite what he wanted. These things seem to run much smoother when she can just move on to the next person eager to meet a royal and impress her with their knowledge.

Emma decides to wait and see what the lieutenant does next rather than rush on with any further foolish words. For a while he just seems to watch the steam as it drifts around, before he says, as much to himself as to Emma, "We should probably start walking."

Emma follows him into the steam because he seems to have a plan and what choice does she have anyway? Standing around just allows the smell to permeate her nostrils further and knowing that the cause is the sulphur doesn't make it any the less awful.

She follows him past the large pool of water with its steamy canopy, and further on through the weird orangey-grey landscape. It's only when she hears a dull 'plop' coming from what appears to be a puddle that curiosity gets the better of her. "What's that?" she asks, peering at it through the steam.

"Boiling mud, your highness. Just…don't fall in."

She gives him an indignant look but fails to muster much of a defence. She did fall off a boat and the grip of her slippers has hardly improved since then. If anything, after their climb up from the beach, they're in danger of falling apart altogether.

Emma eyes the pool of boiling mud warily, and begins to edge past it, holding her skirts as close to her body as she can and making sure she checks her footing with each step. The mud continues to bubble next to her in a way that Emma feels is slightly menacing.

"Perhaps you should take my hand, your highness?" Emma tears her eyes away from the bubbling mud to look at the lieutenant and his extended hand. He may have asked her a question, but it's clear that he's done so only to follow protocol. He expects she'll take the proffered hand.

And she does, because while she may be eager to prove she is not helpless, she doesn't want to accidentally slip into the mud while she's doing it.

It is certainly easier, having someone to hold on to. And it's not so bad, Emma decides, holding Lieutenant Jones' hand. There have been so many awkward moments between them in the short time since they awoke that she's pleased this isn't one of them. And it will stay that way as long as she pretends she's just holding on to the hand of a loyal subject who's duty-bound to help a princess across dangerous terrain, and not the hand of a man not that much older than herself who she finds…interesting.

At least that's the description of Lieutenant Jones she'll admit to herself. Despite his appalling taste in reading matter.

Once they are past the worst of the steaming, boiling pools of nastiness Lieutenant Jones drops Emma's hand and gazes at the trees that have been brave enough to grow along the edge of the molten landscape. Emma steels herself, and asks the question that's been burning in her brain since their conversation regarding rocks on the beach.

"So…do you know where we are? I mean, if you've read up on the area, then you must know which kingdom this is, mustn't you?"

He doesn't answer her for a moment, and during that time she hears all the possible answers in her head, liking very few of them. "I believe, your highness, this is part of King George's kingdom."

"I see." Those two words are all she can trust herself to speak for a moment. And she is definitely avoiding looking at the lieutenant while she tries to compose herself. But she can only resist for so long and, when she does sneak a glance in his direction, he looks concerned for her. His dark brows are drawn in and his lips are pressed together and his eyes are just searching her face as though he's trying to figure out what she needs.

But she doesn't need anything. "Now I wish you hadn't dissuaded me from stockpiling rocks. I could have stuffed some in my gown. I think they may come in handy." His expression lightens only slightly and she is momentarily angry with him. How dare he treat her like a helpless imbecile?

Hunger, and tiredness and the enormity of their situation soon catch up with her emotional state and her anger fades as rapidly as it appeared leaving her wishing, fervently, that her father would appear on the horizon, sword at the ready, and whisk her home just like the time she followed one of the nursery maids on her homeward journey and ended up in a village, alone, at dusk unsure whether the better option was to attempt a return to the castle or just to stay put and hope for the best.

Prince David is nowhere to be seen and she is still alone, save for the lieutenant.

"He tried to stop me being born, you know?" she says to him, unsure why she suddenly feels like being candid. "Well, all of us, I suppose. King George cursed my mother so she wouldn't be able to bear children. But the curse was broken and here I am in the kingdom he still holds while he, no doubt, continues to nurse such a grudge against my parents. He won't fight them directly; I don't think he could muster the support for a campaign these days. But…it will be…if he finds I am here the outcome won't be a pleasant one…given that my very existence vexes him so much."

"I doubt he will find us," the lieutenant says, and she looks at him, hoping that what he's saying is the truth and not simply the right words to placate a worried princess. "After all, no one really knows we're here. And this place…" he sweeps his arm around. "It's the arse-end of nowhere. Hardly teeming with spies."

He smiles at her and she can't help but smile back. And agree with him. "I think arse-end is a very apt term. It certainly suits the odour we're stuck with."

Lieutenant Jones looks a little abashed at that, and she can see a hint of red creeping up his neck. "I'm sorry, your highness. I forgot the company I was in for a moment. I shouldn't have used such language."

"Oh, it's quite alright. I think under the circumstances we can afford to speak freely. And I'm sure it's a very useful phrase, and one I might find quite handy the next time my mother suggests we visit the dwarf mines. Again."

Lieutenant Jones nods in agreement, and then holds out his hand to Emma. They are past the most treacherous ground now, and really it's just a matter of stumbling over rocks and dirt towards the shelter of the trees.

But even so, she takes his hand again. Just because it's nicer to be holding on to someone than not.

They travel on through the trees as the clouds clear and the sun finally appears. Emma hopes that her dress might dry a little more, although it is clearly ruined and she will need to find something else to wear. Lieutenant Jones' uniform is at least faring better but she worries that if they encounter anyone it will be easily recognisable as military in origin.

A little way through the trees familiar clouds of steam appear. Emma is less than enthused about the prospect of negotiating her way through more boiling mud, but when they reach the source of the steam it's a deep-green pool of water, rather than an ugly mud puddle.

Lieutenant Jones walks over and peers at the water. "It might be a suitable temperature for bathing," he announces.

"Oh?" Emma feigns polite disinterest, although the prospect of a bath is intensely appealing at that moment. Still, the idea brings with it a whole other raft of problems, such as the prospect of disrobing in the presence or, at the very least, near proximity of the lieutenant.

She watches as he dips first a stick, then a leaf and finally his own hand into the water, hoping that he isn't going to end up horribly burnt in the process. Satisfied with his investigations, he turns back to Emma. "I think it will be fine, your highness."

"Well. That's good." Emma isn't sure what the protocol is, but she certainly isn't about to start removing her dress.

"I'll give you some privacy and see if there's another pool elsewhere, your highness," the lieutenant says, and he starts off through the trees, just as Emma realises she's stuck in her dress without someone to help her.

"Uh, Lieutenant Jones?" He turns back to her. "How are you with buttons?"

It's a little disconcerting, having Lieutenant Jones fumbling about with the buttons on the back of her dress. "I don't often have to undress myself," Emma explains.

"No. Well I don't suppose you could, your highness, unless you're far more flexible than the average person."

Emma smiles at that, but it's a half-hearted one as she can't help feeling a little helpless. It's ridiculous that a grown person can't even remove her own clothing. And now she has a man she barely knows touching the back of her dress, smoothing her hair out of the way and accidentally brushing her skin. She might as well be a doll or some other inanimate object stuck being pushed and pulled about.

Emma blinks back tears as she hears the lieutenant say that he'll leave her now, and then she hears his footsteps moving off through the trees.

Alone, she feels a little better and considerably more capable. She takes the opportunity to relieve herself and, with the help of a sharp piece of stone, tear a strip from her shift to use as a fresh rag. After some internal debate she buries the old rags shallowly and covers the spot with a rock.

Feeling somewhat accomplished and with a last look around to check she really isn't being spied on, she removes the rest of her clothing and slips into the warm water. The chill that had sunk into her bones when she hit the water the previous night disappears and she forgets, for a moment, that she is in a pool surrounded by mossy rocks, and when her eyes are closed it's almost like she's home again.

She keeps her eyes closed for a long time.

But she can't put off the inevitable forever. She turns a corner of her shift into a makeshift towel and struggles back into her garments as best she can. They are, at least, almost dry now as Emma had laid them in the sun before bathing.

The buttons are still an issue and the lieutenant was correct in saying she couldn't fasten them without altering the way her arms were connected to the rest of her body. She gives up on the attempt and sits down on a rock, putting her hair in a rather rough braid.

A comb would be useful.

Also soap. And clean, dry clothes. And something to eat, as her stomach is rumbling again.

After a few minutes she wonders where the lieutenant is. And if he is coming back. Suddenly it doesn't feel quite such a relief to be alone. She'd intended to wait for his return and grant him the privacy he'd granted her, but her worries won't be quietened and she calls out for him.

Emma isn't certain if he thought she was in danger or difficulty, but he appears through the trees almost instantly looking concerned. He is also only half-dressed, having removed his shirt and waistcoat and not replaced them before answering her call.

"You needed me, your highness?"

"Oh. I just…well. I hoped you were safe. Also, I still have the problem with my buttons." She gestures over her shoulder and tries to avert her gaze from the lieutenant's chest. Clearly, she does a very poor job of it as the lieutenant notices where she is looking, and blushes noticeably.

He starts to pull his shirt on carefully while avoiding Emma's gaze. "I'm sorry if I've offended you, your highness. I just thought…well, I came as fast as I was able."

"No. No, it's my fault. I'm sorry for making you think that. I didn't realise you had found somewhere to bathe as well. And I'm not offended…I'm just. Well, I'm a person who can't even fasten her own buttons. I'm not used to seeing men. Without clothes. I mean, there's all that hair." Emma wishes, desperately, that she could stop talking but her mouth seems to have developed a life of its own. She realises how far down the road from appropriate she has travelled when she sees the deep red colour the lieutenant's face and watches him fumble with his own buttons in his haste to cover up the hair on his chest that she felt the need to comment on.

"I'm sorry," she says, again, knowing it is hardly going to make the situation better. "I just…I tend to blurt things out."

Emma faces away from the lieutenant and keeps talking. "The remark I made, earlier, about making a face? My mother has said that to me more times than I care to remember." She pauses, and when there is no response, continues on. "Have you ever eaten chimera, Lieutenant?"

"No, your highness. It's not a beast served to, uh…well anywhere I have ever dined."

"Well, you're lucky then. It's like an animal ate a bunch of other animals and then regurgitated them, consumed them once again, and then they kill it and serve you the mixed stomach contents." She can't help but shiver a little at the memory. "It is truly appalling. But, if that is what is put in front of you at dinner you are not allowed to describe it in those terms to the host who has served it to you."

"That would be bad form," the lieutenant's voice agrees.

"Yes. And once you have done so, your mother will not be sympathetic if all you had to eat for dinner were the grapes that were meant to be garnish. So I'm sorry if my blunt tongue causes you discomfort. You are not the first, and I am ashamed that I haven't learnt my lesson by now." Emma pauses, and sighs. "I am often not the princess that people expect that I should be."

Emma turns and looks over her shoulder at a, now, fully dressed lieutenant. She hopes that he has regained his composure because she dreads to think how the rest of the day will fare if they are at odds with each other. As difficult at the situation is for Emma, she is under no illusions that Lieutenant Jones is finding it any easier.

"You are…" he begins, and then stops, pressing his lips together. "There is still the matter of your buttons, your highness."

He steps up behind her and begins the task of re-fastening her dress. This time his fingers are surer and there is less fumbling. "I must truly be a princess, I suppose, if I am rendered so helpless by a few buttons."

"Perhaps it is that the garment has failed you, rather than the other way around. Your highness." He fastens the last one, and steps away from her and Emma wishes she had some rather clever retort to his last remark, but sadly that is not a skill of hers. She much more at home with the blunt and thoughtless comments that litter her exchanges with others.

It has been remarked that she has her father's tact. It was probably not an inaccurate statement.

"Shall we set forth, your highness?" the lieutenant asks, and she can see that he's slipping back into that formal way again, stiff and distant and she realises that it won't do at all. She isn't used to being alone, adrift, away from the people who know her and forgive her the moments when she is blunter than she should be, when she doesn't follow protocol. The people who come for her when she is lost and scared.

None of them are in this odd, scary place with her now. It's only Lieutenant Jones. And she needs him to just…be a friend.

"Please," she says. "I think that to the person who is responsible for my buttons I could be Emma. Just Emma."

The lieutenant's eyes flick sideways and he looks as though he's about to refuse her, but he nods instead. "Emma, then. Shall we keep walking?"

"Yes. Let's go home." It's a simple, easy thing to say, but Emma suspects it won't be that easy to achieve.

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Hello again, and thanks for coming back. I'm pleased with the response this rather silly little story is getting - glad you're all enjoying it. And, for those of you following Prairie Lullaby, there is more of that in the very, very near future!**

**Disclaimer: None of the recognisable characters belong to me.**

It wasn't as though Killian had never thought about being asked by a beautiful woman to help her undress, but he did feel that the experience would have been more pleasant, no doubt for the both of them, if she wasn't quietly crying while he desperately tried to get her buttons undone.

It was hardly living up to his fantasies.

Not that he'd had fantasies like this about Princess Emma. When he heard about the nature of the trip and the guests that were to be on board the ship he had thought that, perhaps, the most he would get was to answer a question or two she might have had about the Pink Cliffs or the terrain around them. And he had read up on the subject, just in case.

But now he realises that what he should have been studying were buttons. Or, specifically, the kind of buttons that keep the princess locked into her dress. He fumbles terribly with them; they were simply too small, and the fabric of the dress too slippery. All the while he is desperate to just retreat from the princess and her tears.

The trouble is that out of sight is not out of mind. Killian finds a small pool which is barely tepid a way from where he left the princess to bathe but he finds it difficult to concentrate on his own ablutions. He feels responsible for her now, perhaps even more so than he did the previous night.

He keeps wondering what Liam would do in these circumstances, whether he would have left the princess wandering around in the undergrowth by herself or been able to provide more reassurance that King George's army was not any immediate threat. Killian was almost certain that Liam wouldn't have simply managed to teach the princess some colourful terms not quite befitting a lady.

More to the point, he knows for a fact that the princess would not have been so completely horrified if it was Liam who had been helping her undress.

Killian feels utterly inadequate, both as the princess' protector, and as a naval officer. He isn't certain what fate awaited him when, and if, they did make it home. Jumping into the sea after her had surely been an idiotic move on his part and caused Liam a great deal of concern when his absence, along with Princess Emma's, was discovered.

And then he heard the princess calling and _of course_ she was in trouble because he'd failed her once again. There was probably some kind of giant eel that had emerged from the depths of the pond and was, right at that moment, devouring her and, should he ever make it back to the Enchanted Forest, he would be princess-less and utterly disgraced.

But when he finds her again there is no eel, or anything else terrifying, save the buttons that she expects him to once again do battle with. Clearly, however, the princess cannot say the same. It's more than obvious from the way she looks at him with a kind of fascinated horror that he should have stopped long enough to get properly dressed again before he ran back to her.

He won't make that mistake again.

And the situation is not improved when she averts her eyes and starts babbling about chimeras, making it more than obvious that the only thing she can think of in relation to Killian are monsters and, possibly, hunger.

While Killian is struggling with that himself it isn't, perhaps, as bad as the worry he feels in the pit of his stomach when he has to face buttoning the princess' dress once again. The princess makes a valiant attempt to lighten the mood, cursing the design of the gown she is wearing and Killian is mildly pleased with the retort about her dress failing her that he conjures in response, thinking that it sounds an awful lot like something Liam would say. It doesn't quite manage to remove the sadness from her voice but she does decide that Killian should be granted the privilege of calling her by her first name.

Only it doesn't feel like a privilege to Killian. It feels like a burden. He'd much prefer to pretend that she's not a person but some kind of very rare object that he just has to keep in one piece until it returns back to where it came from. You don't have to worry about an object getting itself killed, or whether it's about to burst into tears, or, especially, whether you'll enjoy touching it far, far too much.

There is nothing for it, though, but to acquiesce with her proposal and hope that the princess…no, Emma is who is she is supposed to be to him now…remembers that they are not, and are never going to be friends.

At first there is what feels like an awkward silence between them as they trudge onwards. The princess breaks it first. "I did appreciate the chance to bathe," she says, in a quiet and overly polite voice that sounds not at all like the person who'd been lamenting the choice to put chimera on the menu.

"I'm glad." He presses his lips together and manages to hold in the 'your highness' which threatens to slip out. Killian suspects the princess notices, but she doesn't say. Mostly she is distracted by her hair.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," she mutters, as the strands unravel from the braid she'd put them in. Killian had noticed her struggling with her hair on the beach and, as much as he admires it, he can imagine that it is somewhat of a burden. His own hair is a tangled mess; the ribbon that usually ties it back lost in the sea and his hasty retreat from the pond not allowing him any time to remedy the situation earlier.

"Look, you hold it for me as I gather it, and then I'll just try tying it back, alright?" she says to him, and Killian nods before stepping forward to take hold of her hair.

It's probably the closest they've been since awaking that morning and oddly not as uncomfortable as he might have suspected. Still, there is no denying that her proximity is far too alluring and he shifts a little from foot to foot as the princess gathers up errant strands of hair to add to that he's already holding.

"Alright. I'll just tie this around it." The princess wraps what appears to be part of her clothing around the hair and ties it in a bow. "What do you think?"

"Very, uh…practical."

Clearly that was not the right answer to give. She narrows her eyes at him and Killian tries to think of a better compliment. "The tie, uh…well it matches your dress. I suppose it was a part of your dress previously, but…"

He stops abruptly when the princess reaches up and grasps a handful of his own hair. "Yours is almost as bad," she mutters. He has no reply to that at all and is torn between pushing her away and pulling her closer. In the end his mind seems to settle on simply being embarrassed about the whole thing and he can feel himself blushing.

"You know," she says, continuing to run her fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his face. "The next time I travel anywhere by boat I will remember to sew a comb into my corset in case I get marooned anywhere. It would be awfully useful about now."

"Mmm," is about all he can manage in reply, certain there was something about her speech that he didn't completely agree with, but not remembering what it was now. Not when her fingers keep moving through his hair and she's standing so close and at the mention of corset he immediately looked down and the view of the princess' bosom over the top of hers was simply too alluring.

He's never wished to be standing next to a non-breathing marble statue more in his life.

"Do you have anything to tie it with?" she asks and it's a moment before he can reply to tell her that he hasn't. "Never mind," she continues, unconcerned. "I'll just…"

The princess' hands disappear from his hair and he is at first bereft but, slowly, as rational thought returns, he realises she's trying to pull a ribbon from her own dress. "I can't get it. Will you give this a good tug for me?"

He looks at where the ribbon is positioned on her waist. It could be worse; it could be higher. Or maybe that would be better. He can't really tell, and is reluctant to do as she asks.

"Won't that rip the dress?" he asks.

"Phfft. It's rags now anyway. Everything I'm wearing is. My slippers have all but perished, my shift is missing a few pieces I had to rip away. I'll have to find something else, and soon. But in the meantime your hair is annoying me. So, just pull it off."

It's all he can do not to close his eyes as he tries tugging the ribbon, gently at first. "Harder," the princess commands. "Honestly, have you ever met a royal seamstress? They don't do anything by halves. You're going to have to really go for it."

Killian does as she instructs, the ribbon coming away in his hand. The momentary relief he feels at being able to step away from her again disappears as soon as she steps behind him and her hands are back in his hair. To distract himself, he attempts conversation. Poorly.

"Speaking of…uh, rags. You are…that is, I mean…you found something?" He immediately regrets the question, and thinks it is probably not something he should have asked.

But the princess is nothing if not verbose on the worst topics. "I used part of my shift. See?" She steps around him, lifting her dress and he tries not to look at the legs she exposes in the process. Then she is back behind him fixing his hair.

"I'll have to find something better, but it will do for now. Luckily I'm not bleeding all that much anymore, and I'm well past the crampy stage which is downright unpleasant. If it was the _first_ day of my bleeding then I doubt I'd be going anywhere without a large dose of pain powder. So it could be worse, I guess."

The princess is awfully quick at picking up on his lack of response. "I suppose really a simple 'yes' would have sufficed wouldn't it?" She sighs. "I'm sorry. I forget that you're…well. Anyway, that's a big improvement in your hair, don't you think?"

She moves away from him and Killian feels for where she has, indeed, now tied his hair back for him. "It is. Thank-you, your highness."

"Emma!" She accompanies her remonstrance with a slap on his arm which he assumes is meant to be playful, but somehow hurts more than he thinks it should.

There is another awkward moment where neither of them seem to know what to do next. Luckily the princess is all business when she speaks again. "So, how far do you think it is? To home?"

"I don't know, exactly…" Killian hopes that she won't keep pressing for a more accurate assessment. If he was on the _Jewel_, if he had access to a sextant or charts or anything else that would actually help him navigate then he might be able to give her a better answer, but, sadly, he is stuck in a forest of scrubby trees and bushes and there is nothing here that will give him any clue.

The princess…Emma…the person who is, inconveniently not an object, looks as though she is considering that statement. "Are we actually closer to King Midas' kingdom? Than home?" she asks in the end, perhaps a little hopefully. "I just thought that…well it borders King George's kingdom, doesn't it? I mean…the southern end does. So perhaps it's nearer to where we are now?"

"I couldn't say." Killian pretends not to notice the way her shoulders slump at his words. "But, granted, it is a possibility."

"It was just a thought," she mumbles. "I was hoping we could go there."

"You know people there?"

"My godmother, Princess Abigail."

"The Princess Regent?"

"Yes." She nods enthusiastically. "I spent last summer with her. It was…" The princess stops speaking and appears to be searching for a word. Unfortunately she also stops walking as she does so and, while Killian realises that the journey will be a long one, it will be even longer if this occurs on a regular basis.

He considers suggesting they should ban conversation when she finally appears to find the term she wanted to use. "Interesting."

Killian is quite certain that such a pedestrian term shouldn't have required such a long pause in their journey, and, despite the fact he tells himself that provoking further conversation could lead to interminable delays he can't help but point that out to the princess.

"Are you merely being polite, your…" He pulls himself up short before the final word slips out.

"You were supposed to call me Emma," she retorts, frowning at him and pursing her lips. Her eyes give away though that she is far from mad and he finds that the playfulness in her expression is just…utterly confusing. He looks away but she continues on, blithely. "And of course I'm being polite. I can be sometimes, you know."

"They do say that Midas' palace is quite something to behold," he states, trying to get back on a more equal footing with the…Emma…person. Landmarks seem to be a much safer topic of conversation.

"Do they? Was that in a book too?" She sighs. "You don't have to answer. Yes, it's gold. All of it. But it's not like I had time to stand around and admire it…or do much of anything, really."

"It was not an enjoyable holiday?"

"She's lovely…Princess Abigail. But she and Duke Frederick only had boys." The princess makes a face, eyes widened and eyebrows raised that suggest to Killian he should understand the significance of this remark.

But he's a little lost now, and wishing the gold palace was back in the conversation. "And that's not a good thing?"

"Not for me," she grumbles. "Because she's desperate to share her thoughts on how to be a better queen."

"I see."

The princess looks at him sideways. "I bet you don't. I mean, it's not like my mother doesn't try to impart her wisdom to me all the time. But she's more about understanding the feelings of your subjects and learning that not everyone is as privileged as we are. Princess Abigail believes that if you read every single law book in the kingdom then you can best anyone in an argument. I barely went outside the whole summer. There were tests! I failed some, can you believe it? At least Mama has never expected me to learn all the intricacies of how to mine diamonds, or the hierarchy of fairies, or…or…Oh! My mother!"

Killian had been mesmerised by the sudden animation in the princess' demeanour as she lamented her fate at the hands of the Princess Abigail, watching her eyes widen in horror at the memory of the hated examinations, and her hands jab at the air and now, with the sudden change in the subject he is floundering around just as much as he was in the sea the night before.

"That's it!" the princess continues, as though everything is obvious to both of them.

"Fairies?" he ventures. "I'm not sure how you'd go about finding any around here…"

"No. My mother. We can get a message to my mother. I just need…" The princess starts scanning the trees hopefully. "A bird."

"You can speak to birds?"

"No. Not a jot." She looks back over her shoulder at him and shrugs. "Yet another thing I didn't inherit. Eva can. Leo too. But not me!" The forced jollity of that last statement is jarring but the princess continues on, the words tumbling out. "But I don't have to understand them, they just have to understand me."

"So, any bird?"

"Well, it needs to be able to fly back to the Enchanted Forest but otherwise, yes." Now set on her task the princess starts to walk rapidly towards an area where the trees are taller and denser, with a thick growth of dark-green ferns beneath them. "I bet there will be something in here," she announces, before crashing her way through the undergrowth.

"Aye, but you'll have to be careful not to frighten them off." Killian follows her into the darkness, his eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the slanting rays of sunshine.

The princess stops, sighing impatiently. "Alright. Well help me look, then."

Killian cranes his neck skyward and hopes for a glimpse of something feathered. Intent on his task he neglects to notice how close the princess has drifted and, taking a step to the right, he realises, far too late, that he has trod on her foot.

"Ow!" The princesses' voice is loud in his ear and he bites back his initial inclination to remind her to watch out for others around her. It's something that happens from time to time on board ship, of course, when everyone is working in a small space and just trying to get on with the job at hand. But, in those circumstances, one party isn't disadvantaged by being shod in footwear which is designed on the principle of form over function.

The worst part, he realises, is the initial look of shock in her eyes, as though she can't believe he actually hurt her. She is balanced on one foot now, rubbing the injured one and swaying slightly and Killian thinks about reaching out to steady her but decides that it is not the time to try touching her again.

The outraged eyes are bad enough, the tears coming back would certainly be worse.

He settles for making an apology. "I'm so sorry your…"

The princess cuts him off. "It's Emma, remember?" she snaps.

"Yes, I am quite aware of your name." He curses the fact his reply is more curt than he would have liked, but he feels more than a little put upon, now. Certainly there's no denying the fact that he stepped on her foot, but he can't help but feel that some of the blame lies with the princess who wants to just be Emma for getting in his way in the first place. Or even for just falling off the bloody deck of the _Jewel _and starting this whole debacle.

"And yet you seem so reluctant to use it." The way her head tilts to the side and her eyebrows raise are clearly a challenge.

"Fine," he huffs, not prepared to back down completely. "I am so deeply sorry for injuring your delicate foot, _Emma_." He finishes with a deep bow from the waist, accompanied by a waving hand that is bordering on mocking.

"Humph. You don't have to be quite so obsequious about it…" She pauses, the haughty expression she's adopted fading rapidly into a frown. Killian guesses this is the moment when she realises that while she has been prodding him to use her name, she has completely forgotten his. There's a small flash of triumph as he figures that he might have the upper hand and he is about to open his mouth and remind her of his name, when he notices the blush colouring her cheeks and the way her eyes have begun scanning the ground in a, no doubt, completely fruitless search for birdlife.

He supposes that it's not something she's used to, having to remember the names of the people who are there to do her every bidding and be mindful of where her feet are at all times. They're just part of the background. And, as much as Killian had wanted to pretend that the princess was some kind of object, he assumes that she would also find it easier to just treat him no differently to those other servants she is used to having trail around after her.

She is making somewhat of an effort, and perhaps he should as well.

He is attempting to think of a way to alert her to the fact of his name when she does what she always seems to do in moments of acute embarrassment; she lets her mouth run away with her. "I suppose I should be used to the fact you always want to be on top of me by now," the princess blurts out, her eyes still on the ground.

Killian stops puzzling about his name and his mind wanders down a path that really only leads to somewhere quite inappropriate. He blames the fact that his first reaction is to blurt out "I have no idea what you mean," in a voice that rises embarrassingly in pitch on the fact that he is annoyed at his own mind for entertaining such lewd thoughts about the princess.

"Well, if you're not standing on me, you're sleeping on top of me," she says with a sigh, skirts swishing as she side-steps around a fallen branch.

Killian remembers waking up in a tangle with the princess and, belatedly, wishing he'd had more time to actually enjoy the contact rather than just worrying that he'd drooled on her neck. He now isn't certain whether apology or denial is the better tactic. Or, perhaps, a jibe about whether she thinks it was appropriate to sleep with someone whose name she cannot remember in the morning.

No, that might be a step too far and alienate her altogether. She is nothing if not confusing; her moods changing at the drop of a hat, and her comments blunt and poorly worded. Most frustrating of all is her strategy for bird-spotting which seems to consist completely of staring at the ground in a move that, Killian thinks, is never going to yield a satisfactory result.

If she wants a bird then she should be looking up.

But then she points at something in the undergrowth. "There!"

"What?"

"A bird. I've found one!"

Killian follows the princess' gaze and watches the fern fronds shake. "That's surely something else, something bigger. It can't be a bird."

"It is," the princess insists. "I saw wings, which I think are a pretty good indication. Look, there!"

He looks and, sure enough, there is definitely _something_ with feathers poking about under the fern, rustling dead leaves with its feet.

"I think it's a kind of…parrot," the princess says, inching forward to get a better look.

"No…it's not the right shape…" The bird emerges from the undergrowth and stares at them unblinkingly. "And it has a face like an owl."

"It doesn't look anything like an owl," the princess counters. The bird seems to suddenly notice that it is the centre of attention, and lets out a squawk while tilting its head to one side to view them better.

"And that's clearly not an owl noise," she continues. "So it's a parrot. And you have to think that a parrot that big must be able to fly a long way."

She hasn't exactly phrased that as a question, but Killian suspects she's looking for reassurance that her plan will work. He'd like to give it to her, but he is a little unconvinced. "I don't know if those wings would hold it. I mean, it's awfully round, don't you think? It looks far more like something you'd pluck and roast."

As if it can understand the words he's said, the bird stares him down and lets out another, louder squawk.

"Please don't offend it before I have a chance to ask," the princess hisses to Killian.

"Fine. But I still don't think it can fly," he hisses back, watching the bird as it edges towards them.

There's a squawk from overhead and both they and the bird look up to see another pair of greeny-brown wings high in the treetops. "See?" the princess says, gaily. "They can obviously fly because how else would a bird get up there. Plus, I think this one likes me. I'm going to try talking to it."

She doesn't appear to be mistaken about the bird liking her as it has now finished edging forward and is nibbling the edge of her gown in an exploratory kind of way. Killian watches as the princess crouches down and the bird stops nibbling and stares at her with unblinking eyes.

"I'm very sorry to, uh…disturb you," she begins. "Mr Bird. Or Mrs. I don't want to offend you." She pauses, and the bird doesn't do anything other than continue staring, so the princess continues on. "I wish to request, most humbly, your assistance with a…very important matter of state."

There's another pause while the bird looks over its shoulder and squawks, loudly, as if alerting its companion to what is taking place. The princess, sensing she's losing the bird's interest, starts again, this time in a muddled blur of hasty words rather than carefully chosen phrases. "Look, I'm sorry. This isn't really my forte. My mother, she is excellent with your kind. With everyone, really. She'd know what to say. I just want to ask if you…if it's not too much trouble. Could you go and tell her I'm alright? That I'm not dead and that I…" This time the princess looks at Killian, as though judging how much to give away in front of him. "I miss her. She's my mother, and she'll be worried. I just want her to know that I'm not dead."

The bird cocks its head and shakes out its feathers before starting to turn away. "Oh!" the princess adds, quickly, and the bird stops and Killian could almost swear that it is actually listening to her words. "I should say. My mother…she's Snow White. Queen, of the Enchanted Forest. I know it's a long flight, but I'm sure that wings as sturdy as yours could fly there and back, and I'd be so, so grateful. We both would." She turns to Killian again and this time there's a smile on her face. He can't help but return it.

The bird stretches out its wings and shakes its head and Killian wonders whether this is a mere display or an attempt at communication. He's still not convinced that the thing can actually fly.

And then it turns and starts to walk off. "Are you sure it understood?" he asks the princess.

"Birds are smarter than they seem," she retorts, straightening up again.

"I have no doubt of that." If anything Killian thinks that the bird is trying to tell them something, opening and closing its wings several times before running a short distance and running back. It seems to be quite quick at covering the distance. For a bird.

"I wonder if I need to say anything else…like give it a direction to fly in?" the princess muses.

Killian holds his tongue for fear that another comment about the unlikelihood of this bird to get off the ground will only serve to earn him more of the princess' scorn. Still, he cannot shake the impression that the bird is trying its hardest to impart that information to the princess itself.

After another few moments spent watching the bird perform the odd little dance, it appears to give up and starts off towards the tree where its companion has been sitting all this time. "Do you think it's going to leave soon?" the princess asks plaintively.

They watch as the bird begins to ascend the tree, using only its claws and break to climb the trunk. Its wings appear to be useful only for balance. Halfway up it turns and Killian could swear it gives them an apologetic shrug, before it goes back to climbing. The other bird passes it on the trunk of the tree, climbing down in much the same fashion, before it pushes off and glides to the ground, landing in an undignified heap. It picks itself up, stares at Killian and the princess curiously, before setting off at a fast run through the undergrowth.

Killian dares to look in the princess' direction and finds her staring open-mouthed at the birds. "I just…no, that's _not_ right." She turns to Killian. "It can't fly?"

"I believe that's the case. Yes."

He braces himself for the reply that doesn't come. Instead she turns and starts walking quickly through the undergrowth, pushing through ferns noisily and causing an alarmed squawk from their new friend above them. And then she stops, suddenly, as though she's found an invisible barrier, and she crashes to the ground in a heap, much as the bird he'd witnessed only moments before had done.

Killian walks over to her, as carefully as they had approached the bird earlier. He's worried about her throwing things again and perhaps this time using him as a target. But as soon as he sees the slump of her shoulders and the way she is picking at a frayed seam on her dress he realises that throwing things would be infinitely preferable to this. She can't be that defeated just because she thought the bloody bird could fly, can she?

He wonders what on earth he can say to comfort her, but he doubts that anything he tries will make up for the fact that, clearly, she is missing her mother and cursing a lost opportunity to contact her. He tries, forlornly, to think what Liam would do under the circumstances but realises that even his brother would be out of his depth at this moment.

It's a terribly sobering thought.

Liam may be quite adept at polite conversation or inspiring great loyalty amongst the people he commands, but Killian does not think that his brother would be any better at providing comfort than he is himself. After all, while he has some slim chance of being a pale imitation of his brother the girl he is with is missing her mother. He has no chance at all of being able to dredge up an impersonation of one of those.

He can't even remember having one.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, with Killian hovering behind the princess as she sits on the ground she seems to rally. Or, at least, she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and sticks her legs out straight in front of her, smoothing her tattered skirt across her legs. "Of course it couldn't fly," she says. "Bloody birds always hate me. Have you ever seen an angry bluebird?"

Killian shakes his head, and sits down beside her. "Well, it's not pretty," she continues. "And it's far worse when they can complain to your mother that you knocked over the bird-feeder again. I have no luck! I mean, I got us into this whole mess and now I can't get us out of it. I'm the worst person to be stuck with, aren't I?"

She looks at him pleadingly, clearly wanting him to deny it. "I don't think that's true at all…" he begins, but he doesn't get to say anything further as she waves a hand, rather dismissively he feels. What was the point of even asking him then if she doesn't want to hear the answer?

"If my mother _were _here," she continues. "She would know what to do. She could track…something, anyway. At least she could find a bird to talk to. The right sort of bird for a start. I am the most awful princess to be lost with!"

"I don't know. I mean, from your description the Princess Abigail doesn't sound like the best travelling companion."

He had hoped that would bring a smile to her face, but, if it does, it is so fleeting he misses it altogether. She sighs, noisily. "I just wish…well. I'm sorry you got stuck here. With me."

"I…" he doesn't get to finish, which he is a little glad of, not entirely certain what exactly he would say anyway.

"It's fine," she says, in a flat voice that matches her furrowed brows and pursed lips. "I don't need a bunch of empty words. I'm not that delicate."

"I had assumed as much. After all, despite all accusations of brutality towards you, I haven't managed to break you yet." Killian still hopes for a smile from the princess, and, this time, there is a small one, although she still seems more sad than amused.

"I suppose. Well, let's keep walking."

There's nothing else for it, but to follow her as she stands up and sets off. It's clear that she is still disappointed, although he is unsure if she is disappointed in herself, the bird who couldn't fly, or him. Perhaps all three. Perhaps she will remain unhappy until such time as they eventually return home and she can see her mother again.

Killian hopes she won't because, as much as he may have wished that she was some inanimate object, she is far from being one and infinitely more interesting to him as a result.

"Of course," she says, over her shoulder as she walks towards a clearer patch between the trees up ahead. "If you tread on my feet again, you might have to carry me."

"I would assume nothing less. _Emma_."

There's silence from the princess for a few moments, and then she stops and pivots to face him, her face now sporting a broad smile of triumph. "Of course not. _Killian_."

And then, almost before he has a chance to return her smile, she turns around again and starts walking. "We'll have to talk about the pillow situation later, though," she says. "Perhaps you might like to think about catching one of those birds?"

"I'm sure they will be a poor substitute for you. It seems a terrible step backwards, from a princess to a parrot who can't even be arsed flying anywhere."

She laughs, loud and sudden and there's a corresponding familiar squawk from somewhere up above their heads.

No, he thinks. It wouldn't be nearly as enjoyable a journey without the possibility he might make her laugh like that again. And he doesn't even care to speculate whether Liam would be capable of doing the same.

Perhaps it isn't so bad after all that she's a real girl and not a statue, after all.

**A/N The bird in this chapter is based on the kakapo, a flightless parrot native to New Zealand. I've also, in previous chapters, added in some landscape details based on parts of NZ, just because I can! **

**Thanks for reading!**


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